


Like flying

by green_grin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, M/M, MeetCute, climber crowley, fencer aziraphale, this is very silly and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 17:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_grin/pseuds/green_grin
Summary: 'The first time Aziraphale saw Crowley, he was crashing to the ground.'A silly and sweet teenage human AU meetcute - featuring climber Crowley and fencer Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	Like flying

The first time Aziraphale saw Crowley, he was crashing to the ground.

Even though he was a bookish teenager, Aziraphale was aware that some lunatics liked to take strolls in the forest behind his house and risk breaking their necks by climbing rocks. Sometimes, from his bedroom window, he got glimpses of their parties, all neon bright sport clothes and excited chatter. He envied their cheerful camaraderie – but not the dirt and stains. The private school fencing club he had the misfortune of attending was much more competition-oriented and had managed to slowly but surely turn him off any physical activity.

That day he had been running away from the family table, unable to come up with any excuse except ‘needing some fresh air'. But the air was already hot and humid for mid-May, and the certainty of a looming thunderstorm made his fingers twitch with anxiety and his platinum curls frizz. As soon as he had heard his brother coming home with a couple of friends, he had stuck the first umbrella at hand under his arm and rushed out the kitchen door, a chocolate bar in one hand and a book in the other. It was the kind of day when he felt simply unable to fake even the hint of a smile. He silently berated himself for avoiding other teenagers – but couldn’t force himself to stay. To the forest it was.

Once amongst the trees, his nerves calmed down and the knot in his throat loosened. His feet led him to his favourite old chestnut tree, the one it was so easy to sit under and get lost in a book. So he did just that.

He was wondering if it had been, after all, a good idea to ironically expose Shakespeare’s _Tempest_ to such a potentially devastating downpour - when he spotted a shadow climbing the top of a steep rock.

It was already far too high for the climber’s safety, the red of his hair and the black of his clothes clashing harshly against the white chalk of the stone, making him look like an oversized spider.

The climber seemed stuck in place – and time seemed to stop as Aziraphale stared at him. There was a sharp movement of one hand fifteen feet above the ground and then, suddenly, a fall. Aziraphale was stunned for a few seconds, then rushed to the foot of the rock, terrified. The climber was hidden from his view by smaller rocks until he got close enough to almost step on him. 

He found the gangly spider laying on his back on a small but thick square gym mat.

“Fuck.” Muttered the boy dressed in black. He must’ve been about his own age. “Ah, that went down like a lead balloon!”

“Excuse me - are you alright?” Aziraphale blurted out, overtaken by a sudden, sincere concern for this stranger.

He saw the boy startle, then frantically pat the ground around him until he found a pair of dark sunglasses and quickly put them on. 

From up close, Aziraphale could see he was lean, all sharp angles and long limbs and, much to Aziraphale's dismay, charmingly freckled. The harsh tone in which he spat words out of the thin line of his lips, though, was coarse enough to make him wince.

“Who the hell--” He barked, frowning deeply until his eyes landed on Aziraphale. 'Shit, you startled me. Yeah, yeah… I'm good, nothing to see here… you can fuck off.”

Aziraphale kept still, right by the edge of the pad, torn between outrage and relief. Rising up suddenly on one leg, the boy in front of him clutched at one of his ankles, a steady stream of curses falling from his lips.

“You're clearly not good at all.” Aziraphale replied flatly.

“I am, and it'll start raining soon, you should… you know, go back home.” The boy snarled as he tried, and failed, to tear off with one hand the strangely tight shoe he was wearing.

_Home_. No, he wasn't going to go home. Like the wind rising through the high leaves of the trees he felt an ugly, anxious feeling rising up in his throat. “I’d rather be anywhere else, really.” He wrung his hands in anguish for a moment, then realised he’d spoken that thought aloud. 

“A-anyway, sorry to bother you.” Aziraphale turned around, and, among the deafening cries of the birds calling one another before the storm, started to go back on the path from where he’d come. He felt a weird mix of sadness and pity for himself and, against all odds and despite his awful attitude, for the stranger.

“You're doing the right thing, you know!”

“Sorry?” Aziraphale turned around and saw the boy had won the fight with his shoe.

“Going into the woods and away from a place that isn't for you. That's the right thing to do.” Said the stranger, staring up at the boulder he’d fallen from. 

Aziraphale felt at loss for words. “Thank you.” He gripped the book tightly in his hands. “It's… it's actually been bothering me.”

The boy was silent for a few moments.

“I could tell. I think I fucked my ankle up a bit, to be honest. Ligaments are all overstretched in here.” He pointed at his leg and took off his sunglasses.

Aziraphale smiled, hearing the unspoken question. “Do you perhaps want some help to get back?”

“Nah, s'okay. Would be cool if you wanted to throw that bag over there at me, though. My braces are in there.”

“Oh, it's a regular injury, then? I've got a weak wrist myself!” Aziraphale smiled as he walked towards the boy’s bag.

“Ah, yeah, wanked too valiantly, did you.” The stranger shot back with a crooked smile.

Aziraphale was outraged. “That's because of my fencing training, you wicked creature!”

The boy snorted, the grim lines of his face shifting into honest mirth, amber eyes twinkling. Blushing, Aziraphale did his best to appear scandalised as he began diving into the grey bag at his feet. He was determined not to throw the heavy backpack at an already wounded person – even if he’d asked him to, and even though his manners were appalling. 

“Sorry,” The boy made a face as he watched Aziraphale search inside his bag. “It's all dirty and stinky in there.”

It was, but Aziraphale’s mind was elsewhere. “How… Why would you take such a risk? Going up there without protection, all by yourself? I don’t understand.” He really didn’t. But, for some reason, the affectedly rebellious attitude, grumpy attractive face and dry sweat smell of the stranger made him want to know.

The boy made a face as Aziraphale passed him the ankle brace, snatching it from his hand and crouching on his mat. “I can try to explain, if you’d like…”

“Aziraphale.”

“Aziraphale.” The boy echoed. The name rolled leisurely down his tongue. He wasn't looking at him – rubbing his braced ankle thoughtfully. “Sure, it's dangerous, what I do. Most of the time, I'm in a lot of pain. Fingers stabbed by the rocks. Ankles swollen like this one here. Bruises everywhere. But somehow, it's all worth it. When I finally get to the top, it feels like… like I've deciphered some great mystery just with my…” He wiggled his fingers. 

A gale rose above their heads. The rainclouds must’ve been very close by now. 

“And when I can't make it, well, I let go. I'm free to fail. You can't disappoint anyone but yourself up there.” When the boy made eye contact with him, Aziraphale felt his heart skip a beat. 

Maybe, he could understand.

“And...” The stranger added, voice getting quieter. “I don't expect anyone to get it, but for one or two seconds, from the moment I leave the rock to the moment I hit the ground, it actually doesn’t feel like falling at all. More like…”

“Like flying?” Aziraphale supplied, softly.

The boy’s head snapped so fast in his direction it must have been painful, his amber eyes oddly stunned. “I'm Crowley.” He said, giving another little crooked smile while the thunder echoed in the distance.

And just like that, with the first drops of rain, Aziraphale fell in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you ever so much to Chamyl who honestly wrote the best 50% of this story, correcting my mistakes and giving me thoughtful suggestions.  
> Many many thanks to Literarion who checked the britishness of it and gave it another beta.  
> Thank you both for being so kind to me.  
> I dedicate this small story to my home Discord where the Olympics that-not-happened were discussed, reminding me that, missing climbing, I wrote that silly meetcute last spring in the daze of the first lockdown!


End file.
